A Twist in the Web
by vendetta543
Summary: The year was 1932 and Gwen Stacy thought her life couldn't be any better: a decent education, close friends and a dad that couldn't have been more proud of her. That all changed one night when she saw just how far the tangled web of corruption went and what she had to do to keep those she loved safe.
1. Chapter 1

**Before anyone says anything: yes, another Spider-Gwen fic. Don't judge me! I like the character!**

 **Anyway, I was browsing through old fanarts and I came upon one of a Noirized Spider-Gwen. A few months ago the concept intrigued me, but ultimately I did nothing with it. Since I had some free time I thought, 'why not'? It wasn't like the main story was ending any time soon and people are probably getting bored of it.**

 **So yeah, Spider-Gwen raisied in the 30's was a bit hard to write since transplanting Spider-Gwen to the 30's setting with her personality intact wouldn't work given the time period's values and differences in how she was raised. So I did my best to make a compromise where she shows definite traits of being like the more well-known Spider-Gwen while also showing the effects of being raised in a, let's face it, pretty damn sexist time period. Think of her as a mix of 616 and 65 Gwen.**

 **Hopefully it's good :)**

 **Side Note - I posted this in Through the Looking Glass as an omake before, but someone suggested posting this as its own story. I'll see about updating this when I can, especially since it's just short.  
**

* * *

Gwen Stacy didn't believe in fate.

It might have sounded disingenuous, especially coming from someone who was born to good fortune, but it was the truth. Her dad always told her that things happened for a reason, that there were no coincidences and everything went according to some grand plan.

She never believed it.

As far as she was concerned things just happened and whether it was good or bad came down to a coinflip. No grand plan, no meticulous blueprint for where their life ended up.

That was what she told herself to explain why she, of all people, got these new gifts.

It all started that night a few months ago. The 17th of December, just a few days before Christmas two months after she'd turned 19. The snow was at a full-blown blizzard and her father was out late, working a rally that might or might not have been a powderkeg. She'd been home alone and plagued with worry. It was just a routine case, her dad said, but ever since her mom passed on Gwen never stopped worrying. They were all the other really had left.

So she went. It wasn't too far off and she had a passing familiarity with the area. Mary Jane, one of her friends from ballet, often talked about the gatherings with a certain glow in her eyes, but Gwen couldn't share her enthusiasm. She sympathized with what they wanted, but she'd heard far too many stories of rallies turning into bloody street brawls. The thought of her dad getting his head smashed into the pavement for the sake of 'equality and fairness' sickened her.

Gwen still remembered the cold chill that covered her as soon as she was out the door. She was going to go there, watch over her dad, then leave before he was any the wiser. She knew there was nothing she could do, but if anything did happen then she wanted to be there. It was better than waiting at home like a 'proper daughter' would and letting the anxiety kill her.

Her father was nowhere to be found by the time she arrived. Down the line she would find out that the now-former police chief was corrupt and sent him and the rest of his squad on a goose chase, but back then she didn't have the slightest idea. All she knew then was that her father still hadn't arrived.

So, like an idiot, she waited, mixing in with the crowds listening to the old woman who screamed from her soapbox.

She recognized the woman who stood over everyone. May Parker, wife of the late Ben Parker and a known rabblerouser (in)famous across the city. Gwen had mixed feelings on her. She couldn't deny that their protests closed down some exploitative businesses, but at the same time all her talk of the proletariat rising up sounded much more like a declaration of war to her liking.

The young man next to her was so quiet that she almost hadn't seen him. Peter Parker, she recalled vaguely; just another junior from school that she didn't know much about, though the rumors about him were varied. Apparently he had a habit of getting into brawls on the street like some common thug, though some more sympathetic schoolmates attributed it to anger at his uncle's early passing.

Everything had gone to hell not long after. Three thugs - Norman Osborn's enforcers, as she'd find out later - put a stop to May's rallying and beat Peter down when he attempted to stand up for his aunt. Gwen wasn't ashamed to say that she'd been frozen with fear. She'd heard scattered tales from her dad before, but seeing such violence up close was something else entirely. They probably would've done worse if that reporter, Ben Urich, hadn't come to their rescue.

The sight of Peter Parker staring at the thugs' retreating backs with absolute hatred was something she remembered for a while after that.

Her part that night ended when the one in the purple suit shoved her aside. It wasn't painful, but it was enough to jolt her out of whatever shock she might have had and force her back home.

Back then she didn't see the spider that jumped into the pocket of her coat. Didn't realize that was the start of it all.

Her dad still wasn't home by the time she arrived. Gwen tossed her coat aside haphazardly and collapsed atop the bed, not even bothering to change into her sleepwear. Her heartbeat finally calmed down to something resembling normal and she closed her eyes. Why hadn't her dad been there, she thought. Those thugs wouldn't have been so brave if they saw someone in a uniform.

She couldn't believe she'd ever been so naive.

It hadn't taken long for the exhaustion to finally hit and she soon fell asleep, unaware of the spider that scurried out of the coat of her pocket and made its way way to her hand. She continued to slumber peacefully until the arachnid finally bit down.

She'd been sick with fever for days after that. Her father hired a nursemaid to look out for her, much to her embarrassment, though she could understand his worry. Illness took her mother and he would've been damned if he let it take his daughter too.

Gwen didn't want to tell him that the fevers were nothing compared to the dreams. Being cocooned in a web like a fly while dozens, hundreds, _thousands_ of spiders crawled around her, ignoring her screams of fear and protest. She remembered waking up covered in sweat quickly followed by the urge to vomit out whatever food she'd managed to force down.

The dreams always ended the same way, with the same declaration from the monster at the center of the web.

 _"Why do you tremble, little woman? My bite brings death only to those of evil intent. I will bestow upon you a greater torment...the curse of **power**."_

She found out exactly what it meant the next time she awoke to herself falling off her bedroom window.

Her first instinct at the time was to scream or shout out a curse or a prayer, but it wasn't what she did. Instead her body moved on instinct, grabbing at the cold railings of the fire escape so she could slow her descent. Before her mind could even comprehend what she'd just done her body twisted again and she jumped, flipping over the open dumpster till she landed bare feet first into the snowy alleyway.

It was only then that Gwen finally screamed.

It didn't take her long to figure out that something happened, that the spider she'd killed in a panic when she woke from that bite had done something to her that night. Gwen didn't know if it was magic or some sort of miracle from on high, but the proof was there. She had abilities that only the most creative of minds could even dream of, given power that some dream monster labeled a curse.

She had no idea how accurate that was.

* * *

Months passed and winter made way for summer. Gwen stared at her reflection on the mirror and smiled faintly. Ballet was a hobby she'd gotten into only at her mom's prodding and she refused to give up on it solely out of respect for her. She never enjoyed the pain that came from trying to twist her arms and legs into unnatural positions, even if her dad found her performances amazing.

It was a different story now.

"Very good, Gwendolyne!" Anna Watson, their ballet instructor, said, clapping her hands vigorously at her latest performance. The rest of the students either clapped along with her or looked away in annoyance at the 'show-off', "You've improved a lot these past couple of months! What's your secret?"

"No secret, Ms. Watson. Just lots of exercise." Gwen smiled proudly. She'd practiced with her new gifts for weeks to gain a sense of familiarity. She was stronger now, easily capable of lifting things that grown men twice her weight would've found impossible, and far more agile besides. The dance routines that she could barely follow through before were child's play now.

She never told her dad. It wouldn't do to worry him. Still, Gwen couldn't deny that it made her feel giddy, knowing how easy certain things were now.

Classes ended soon after and Gwen found herself walking with Mary Jane back to her home. Given the state of the economy most of the women who could afford ballet lessons either had money to spare or they had connections. Mary Jane and Gwen were definitely the latter, which made it easy for them to become fast friends.

Anna Watson was Mary Jane's aunt and, as far as Gwen remembered, an old friend friend of her dad. Nowadays generosity wasn't exactly a priority, so Gwen respected the woman for making an exception, even if it was for family and friends. She knew more than a few people where blood didn't matter in the slightest.

"...Gwen, could we go somewhere else?" Mary Jane said suddenly. Gwen looked back and gave her a questioning look, "It's just a quick detour."

"I don't mind, but where?"

"The Bowery Welfare Center. I wanted to check in on May." There was something in Mary Jane's voice when she said the name. Something told Gwen that it wasn't May Parker her friend was worried about.

"...Alright, lead the way."

Gwen tried to ignore the churning feeling in her stomach when she first saw the lines of homeless at the entrance. She hadn't been here in months, though that was hardly a surprise. Her dad was relatively well-off and his recent promotion to police chief after the former one was convicted of corruption only exacerbated that fact. Her unplanned visit back then was just another secret she kept from him.

"Mary Jane, so good to see you again!" May Parker gave the redhead a warm smile and gestured for her to come closer, "Back from ballet?"

"Yes, Mrs. Parker." Mary Jane smiled in turn. Gwen couldn't help but notice the gold ring that still remained on the elderly woman's hand, "Just wanted to check in, see how you were doing."

"That's kind of you, dear, but there's nothing to worry about. Same as usual." She laughed softly and turned her gaze to Gwen, "I don't recognize your friend."

"Oh, this is Gwen. She's a friend from ballet," Mary Jane said quickly, "Um...is Peter around?"

"He's in the kitchen, burying himself in work, as always." May sighed fodnly, "I'll tell him you're here."

Peter Parker didn't look much different from when she saw him last, at least not physically. With her new gifts it was impossible for Gwen to miss the way he shuffled around, like it was an effort to even put one foot over the other, or the lines of worry on his forehead. As soon as he saw Mary Jane he immediately forced a smile on his face and waved jovially, which was more than a little unnerving.

"Mary Jane! It's been a while!" he said.

"Yeah, it was." She hugged him and quickly separated before he could even return the gesture, "Just wanted to see how you were both doing."

"Doing fine. Same old bums looking for a free meal." He jerked his thumb to the thick line outside and smiled wryly, "Keeps me busy, at least. You?"

"Same. Ballet's having a recital soon, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to come?"

There was something so obviously hopeful in the redhead's question that Gwen almost felt guilty for having it so easy with her new gifts. Peter seemed to share her sentiments to an extent given the flash of guilt that ran across his features, "Ah...maybe. My job at the Bugle keeps me busy, you know?" he said softly. Before Mary Jane could press him on it he suddenly gestured to Gwen, "So who's your friend?"

Gwen spoke up first this time, "Gwen Stacy." She stuck her hand out for a handshake, which he took reluctantly.

"Stacy, huh?" He pulled his hand back, "Any relation to Captain Stacy?"

"He's my dad." She couldn't stop herself from sounding proud at that, and who could blame her? There were far too many cops with major or minor faults in their records that were dug up ever since the big corruption leak a few months ago. Her dad was probably one of the few people in the station that didn't have anything on him, which she took no small amount of pride in.

"Huh...well, I heard he's a good man. Let's hope he doesn't end up like his last boss."

"That's never gonna happen."

* * *

She should've kept her mouth shut.

The day started off well enough: another ballet class, an interview with Martin Li about a possible secretary position and some time spent with Mary Jane in a cafe. All in all it was just another normal day.

Until she saw her dad's 'guest'.

If there was one person she didn't expect to see sitting at her living room, it was Wilson Fisk. As far as the public was aware he was a model citizen and a businessman with a good head for leading, but Gwen knew better. If he really was what the public believed then there would've been no reason for her dad to come home drunk while ranting about how the law should've been equal and not at the convenience of those with a big enough bank account.

Fisk spoke first, "Ah, you must be George's daughter." He smiled pleasantly, though Gwen only felt a ferocious pounding at the back of her skull. It was the same feeling she got whenever she crossed the street at the wrong time or she saw Mary Jane's worthless excuse for a father.

 ** _Danger._**

"Um-"

"Gwen, uh, could you please leave for a bit? I'm discussing business with Mr. Fisk," her dad said suddenly.

She knew her dad well enough to know that there was something wrong, but she bit her lip and nodded. Gwen closed the front door behind her and let out a soft breath. As far as her dad was concerned she was still his little girl; someone he had to shield from the harsh realities of the world.

In a way he was right. The events a few months ago suddenly came back. She was nothing more than a spectator back then and yet she was so afraid that she froze on the spot, unable to even look away as those thugs beat up a defenseless old woman and her nephew. If she feared some goons so much back then what could she do against someone who even her dad walked on eggshells around?

"...It's different now," Gwen muttered. She was stronger now. She wasn't some helpless victim who could only watch, not anymore.

Gwen ran into the alley and looked up the fire-escape that led to her room. Making her way up was practically second instinct by now and soon enough she opened her window and slipped inside, throwing off her heels as she did. She had to be quiet for this.

She opened the door a crack and concentrated, letting her new gifts do the work.

"What are you asking from me, Fisk?" her dad's voice was faint but unmistakable.

"Simply that we come to an arrangement instead of conflict," Fisk's tone was cool and collected, but she didn't miss the menacing undertone in the words, "I understand that your predecessor overreached himself, and this in turn led to his exposure. I'm not like that. I simply ask that during certain events you turn a blind eye and in exchange you'll receive compensation. A fair enough deal, wouldn't you say?"

Fisk was trying to bribe her dad. Gwen grit her teeth and clenched her hands into tight fists. This wasn't fair. Her dad was a good man, and now some... _leech_ was trying to drag him down into the mud.

"I'm not like Hardesty, Fisk. I won't be... _bought_ like a dog." Gwen couldn't stop herself from smiling. She knew he would say that.

"If the carrot doesn't appeal to you then the stick might." Fisk's voice took on a harsher tone, "You're not an idiot, George; you know what happens to those who get in my way. And even if you're not afraid to die are you ready to leave your daughter behind?"

"Leave Gwen out of this!"

"Why should I? This concerns her as well. I heard she lost her mom at a young age. Do you really want her to lose her father on top of that?"

It took all Gwen had not to stomp down the stairs and throw the waste of skin out the front door, secrets be damned. Instead she bit her tongue to keep from crying out when her dad eventually said that they could 'talk terms' in a few days. She knew why he did it, but the absolute defeat in his words caused a painful stab in her chest. Her dad was protecting her again, just like he always did.

She had to do something.

* * *

"This is insane..."

Gwen looked at her reflection in the full body mirror. The figure that greeted her was practically a stranger. Instead of her normal coat and heels she wore a dark, padded vest and a pair of thick pants that masked her figure, along with a pair of slightly muddy boots. Underneath the vest was a leather jacket with a hood crudely sewn onto the collar. It wasn't her best work, but it was the best she could do with the time she had.

"I could turn back now..." she mumbled aloud, putting on the leather gloves as she did. Staring at her reflection one last time, she sighed deeply and put on the crude mask and goggles before pulling her hood up, leaving only a few strings of blonde hair to spill out through the gaps. Apart from the few strips of pink on the goggles and the sleeves of the jacket she was completely covered in black.

Gwen didn't even recognize herself, and with any luck no one else would either, "Right..." She patted her upper body and nodded. The entire costume suffocating, but if it meant no one could tell her gender then it was a price she was willing to pay. The less people that could connect...whatever her name would be to Gwen Stacy, the better. She was still trying to convince herself that she wasn't insane for doing this.

"Come on, you can do this. Don't let that bastard treat your dad like a fink..." She opened the attic window and looked down at the adjacent roof. It was now or never.

Gwen jumped. The rush of air was brief and soon enough she rolled atop the hard surface and continued into a run, her form barely illuminated through the cloudy night sky. She had no idea what she was doing. What was she going to do, assault Wilson Fisk and threaten him to stay away from Captain Stacy? Beating him down like a common thug wouldn't do anything.

In the end she made do with keeping watch over her dad. Gwen crouched on the edge of a nearby roof and watched him say his goodbyes to his coworkers. He almost always walked home, which made it easy for her to keep track of him. Fisk said that 'his messenger' would come soon enough, and once he did she'd...well, she'd cross that bridge when it came down to it.

What would he say, she wondered, if he realized his daughter had powers and dressed like a man to play at being his bodyguard? Would he be proud at her for taking a stand or aghast at the idea that she was putting herself in danger?

In the end nothing happened. Her dad came home without any issues and went for his customary nightcap. She told him earlier that she'd turn in early and not to disturb her, so she was safe on that front. Gwen sat at the edge of the roof and watched him through the windows with a frown. Seeing her dad look so... _defeated_ was wrong. He put on a strong front for Gwen when her mom died and now he looked ready to pass on himself.

Gwen stayed on the roof even after her dad finally went to bed. What was she doing? She had powers, yes, but did that mean she wouldn't hesitate in a fight or freeze up at the sight of a gun? It took more than new tricks and a stuffy costume to do accomplish what she needed.

Sighing, Gwen stood and made to go back to the attic before she felt the pounding at the back of her skull again, "Agh..." She leaned against the closet wall and groaned. Not danger, at least not to her. Gwen felt herself being tugged along somewhere and she didn't resist.

She found the source of the warning soon enough. Gwen looked over the edge of the roof and gasped when she saw two men in suits beating down a stranger in the middle of an alley, "Where are the files?!" the one on the left screamed, which was quickly followed by the sound of a fist hitting flesh, "We know you have files on our boss! Where the hell are they?!"

Their victim muttered something she couldn't make out and spat on his face, which earned him another punch in the gut. Gwen cringed and held onto the low barrier tightly. This was none of her business, the rational part of her mind argued. She'd only put on a costume because she wanted to protect her dad, nothing else.

Besides, she had no idea what the situation was. For all she knew it was...

"You're pissing off the wrong people, kid!" The triggerman on the right shoved him face-first into the ground and aimed a pistol at his head. Gwen's heart beat faster at the sight of the weapon, "Who do you think you're fucking with, huh?! You think we won't feed to the fishes, you little shit?!"

Enough was enough. Whatever the situation was, it was damn clear the two guys in the suits weren't in the right. Shelving any hesitation, Gwen placed one foot over the low barrier and jumped.

The landing wasn't as graceful as she would've liked. Gwen landed on the rightmost thug's back feet first and forced him to the ground with a painful crash, almost tripping over herself as she did.

His scream of surprise and pain was brief and quickly drowned out by his partner's cry, "What the fuck?!" His partner fumbled for the gun at his holster. Gwen's body moved on instinct and she aimed her left hand at him, pulling back her middle and ring finger as she did. The feeling of draining air engulfed her wrist before a sudden net of dark webbing covered the gunman and pinned him to the wall.

Well...that was new.

Gwen ran and punched him in the face. Hard. His head snapped back at the impact and his eyes closed, his breaths coming out slowly. Taking a breath to calm herself, she looked down at the unconscious thug on the ground before spraying another net of the dark webbing. Whatever that stuff was she hoped it could hold them for a while. The last thing she wanted was a couple of ticked off triggermen chasing after her.

Her attention was quickly drawn back to the bleeding man who propped himself against the wall. Gwen knelt down and grabbed his shoulders gently to make him face her, "Hmm?" He looked up to meet her gaze and she couldn't stop herself from gasping when she saw his face in full, "...Peter?" she asked, completely forgetting to mask her voice as she did. He blinked up at her in confusion, "Uh...are you okay?" she said, dropping her voice to something rougher and less distinguishable.

"...Yeah." He wiped away some blood on the sleeve of his dress shirt and winced, "Actually...no. I'm kinda hurting here."

"Hm..." A sudden pulse from her sixth sense caused her to look around in a panic, "Where...?" There was no one there except the two of them and the knocked out gunmen, but she could've sworn... "Let's get out of here." She offered him a hand, which he quickly took, "Where's your place? I'll take you." This wasn't how she thought her night would go, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

Gwen waited for him to mutter the directions before she nodded and jumped to the fire escape with him in tow, unaware of the redheaded man who watched her across a distant rooftop, his mouth split into an amused grin.

* * *

Peter's place, oddly enough, wasn't even close to the Bowery Welfare center. Instead he led her to an apartment in Harlem; a part of town that she normally wouldn't have felt comfortable stepping foot in, "Here..." He fished the key out of his pocket and pressed it against her hand.

The inside of the place was uncomfortably small, and apart from a bed, a desk and a few chairs it was almost completely barren. Gwen led him to the bed and set him down as gently as she could. She only saw him get punched in the gut, but it was clear form his injuries that it was more severe than that. ' _How long were they beating him?'_ She looked down at his injuries with a frown. It was sick.

"...Thanks for saving me." He smiled for a brief moment before his face contorted in pain again, "If you're looking for a reward, though, you're gonna be disappointed. I ain't got much, as you can see."

"I didn't do it for that." She didn't know _why_ she did it, actually, "...You need to patch yourself up."

"Ain't exactly got bandages right now. I can get some tomorrow." He stood up shakily and used the bedframe for support, "...I'm going to the john for a bit, clean myself up."

He waved off her offer of help and stumbled into the bathroom. The door closed and soon enough the sound of running water reached her ears. Gwen looked down at her bloodstained gloves and frowned. Peter's blood, and maybe some from that thug she punched. She knew there was a possibility of it getting violent, but she'd hoped a few threats would be enough to make Fisk back off, if it ever came down to it.

Gwen released a tired breath and turned to leave before she saw the scattered papers on the desk. The gunman from earlier mentioned something about files, "Did he mean these...?" She walked towards the desk and picked up the paper before she gasped.

"Fisk..." Gwen set the paper down and looked through the rest of the papers. A list of Fisk's associates, businesses...details that would put most stalkers to shame. Names and dates were either circled or crossed out and the papers were covered in hastily written notes, likely from Peter, "Ties to drug trafficking, smuggling, murder..." How did he get all this?

The sounds of running water stopped and eventually Peter stepped out. His face was still bruised and beaten, but at least the blood was gone, "Hey-"

"Why do you have these?" She turned around and raised one of the files, again forgetting to mask her voice.

"He's a criminal," Peter said, as if it answered her question, "Why? You a fan of his?"

"Hell no," she spat, "I'm just curious why you're getting all these."

"And I'm wondering why a dame's running around in a mask saving strangers in distress." She was almost tempted to shoot back that she wasn't a woman before thinking better of it. She did a poor job of disguising herself, all things considered. He sat down on the bed and groaned, "...Those webs from your hands ain't normal. You one of Osborn's freakshows?"

"No." She frowned. Being called a freak stung, "Just someone with a few extra gifts."

"You saved my keister, so I ain't gonna disagree," he replied, "Why do you wanna know about Fisk?"

"I..." She bit her lip. Could she tell him? From what she could see he and Fisk weren't exactly friends, "He threatened someone I care about. I want to make him stop."

"Yeah, you and half the city." He snorted. Peter grabbed a packet of cigarettes from under the pillow and quickly lit one, "It's funny. You'd think that after what happened to Osborn and the rest of those goombas the scumbags would lie low, but now we got fat fucks like Fisk already trying to eat the whole pie just a few months later."

"Yeah..." She coughed and waved a hand to dispel the smoke. She'd read up on the medicinal effects of nicotine a while ago, but it did little to stop it from smelling unpleasant, "What about you? Why are you chasing Fisk?"

"Favor for a friend, I guess. Someone has to put that bastard in the slammer. " He shrugged, "Right, twenty questions is over. I gotta get some sleep and find a way to explain to my aunt why I looked like I lost a fight with a brick wall."

"Wait..." Gwen looked down and took a deep breath, "You're trying to find something on Fisk, right? You need my help."

"How'd you figure that?"

"How about the fact that I just saved your life?" she countered. He didn't reply, "It makes sense. You want Fisk in the big house and I want him off my d- friend's back. Why not work together?"

"...You got a point, but I find it a bit hard to trust people wearing masks, even if they saved my life." He took a long drag of the cigarette, "I've been burned once and I ain't looking to get played for a fool twice."

Gwen wanted to wring his stubborn neck, but she forced herself to calm, "I need this," she said, her voice growing more desperate, "Right now the person I care about the most is being threatened by that scum and I can't do anything! If I had your help I could..." She took another breath and raised her hands to pull down her hood. This was a risk, but it was better than guarding her dad every night hoping for a change.

Before Peter could say anything else she removed the mask and goggles, finally exposing her face to the cool air. Peter's eyes widened and the cigarette fell between his fingers to the hardwoof floor, "...Shit." He stamped the cigarette out quickly and winced, "Gwen Stacy. Police chief's daughter is turning vigilante, huh?"

"Hardly. I'm just not going to do nothing when someone threatens my dad." She looked down at the mask briefly, "I'll say it again: you need my help. Without me you'd be dead in that alley and without you I don't have any leads."

"You're saying we need each other." He let out a single, wry laugh, "...Fine, I can see you ain't gonna let up on it."

"So you agree?"

"For now, yeah..." He nodded, "I'm getting a lead tomorrow night from a friend. Come or don't, doesn't matter to me."

"I'm going."

"Then take my advice and leave the mask at home. Where we're meeting it's gonna get the wrong kinds of attention."

"Where are we going?" A feeling of relief rushed through her. This was hardly ideal, but at least now she had a starting point. It was better than nothing.

"Ever heard of the Black Cat?" She shook her head, which caused him to smirk, "Then you're gonna be in for a treat. I'm gonna show you where the corrupt bastards call home. Hope you can deal, Stacy."

"I think I'll be fine..." She rolled her eyes. After tonight she doubted anything would surprise her.

* * *

 **This chapter was mostly setup for the partnership. Any possible future chapters would delve more into 30's stuff that's only briefly touched upon here like sexism (a female vigilante? Scandalous!), racism (Gwen probably has some casual bigotry compared to Peter) and all that other 'fun'. Gwen and Peter also have personal issues with the other since one's the socialist adopted son of a couple of rabblerousers while Gwen's the daughter of a well-to-do police chief. As expected this causes some friction due to contradictory viewpoints.**

 **Anyway, to clarify some things: Peter has no powers in this story but the events of the first Noir miniseries still happened, albeit modified. Osborn and all his connections still got exposed and Urich still died, for example, but Osborn wasn't killed (no Spider-Man to kill him) and Vulture was shot by a non-powered Peter to save his aunt, which changes the context of the scene heavily.**

 **Gwen's personality is also a bit of a mix. Like her 616 counterpart she's close to her dad and raised in a well-off environment, but like Spider-Gwen she has a (burgeoning) sense of justice and is very much a do first, plan later kind of person. Her character also changes on any future chapters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**This chapter was actually pretty hard to write. Dunno if it's cause of work or the slump I've been in, but this took me days to write. The end also ended up frittering out, so my apologies for that.**

* * *

Gwen couldn't believe she was doing this.

Taking a deep breath, the blonde looked up at the sign and pursed her lips in a frown. The simple black and white sign - _The Black Cat_ \- wasn't something she would normally look twice at. The scarred bodyguard at front and a few milling men with suits was definitely suspicious, but it was far enough away from the main street that most would've never even seen them and those that did either already knew or turned away.

Of course, she also knew what it was - a speakeasy, a den of vice and inequity. Gwen stuffed her hands into her coat pockets and bit back a scowl. For years she'd heard her father's stories on the raids to try and arrest the criminals connected to the distasteful practice. Time and again arrests never stuck because of just how profitable alcohol was and criminals walked. Personally she never saw the appeal of it. Why waste your earnings on a drink that would do nothing but intoxicate you?

"Where are you, Peter..." She shifted from one foot to another. She didn't feel threatened - not ever since her fall in that alley - but she was already drawing attention. A woman alone at this time of night in a place like this? Already she saw a couple of the suited men throwing her sideways glances, their expressions all too obvious on what they thought she was: a naive woman who'd fall into the arms of a man with enough long green to flash.

Thankfully she didn't have to wait much longer. Soft footsteps came from behind and when she turned she was met with Peter's (still injured) face, "Sorry for the wait." She wanted to tell him off, but the look of discomfort caused her to bite her tongue. He looked better than last night - no blood, for one - but the bruises had turned into an ugly purple color and he'd covered his right eye with a thick roll of bandages.

How he planned to explain his state to Mary Jane and his aunt, she had no idea.

"It's fine." She let out a soft breath and looked him up and down, "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've had worse; they usually just don't hit the face." He smiled and didn't laugh. Neither did she, "You know what to do, right? You gotta"

"Keep a low profile, I got it." She waved a hand through the air in slight annoyance. She understood his worries - the police chief's daughter being caught in a speakeasy, of all places, would've been damning; especially for her father given the public arrest of the previous police chief. There were still many who considered him just another corrupt thug with a badge and she'd be damned if she would be the one to feed into that belief.

"Just making sure." He nudged his head to the entrance, "Come on, let's go."

The scarred man in the suit was as impassive as ever when the two of them walked up. There was a hint of familiarity Gwen caught when he looked to Peter that was quickly replaced by suspicion when he turned to her, "Who's the dame?" he asked. His voice was softer than Gwen thought.

"A friend o' mine. What's it matter, Lippy?"

'Lippy' looked her up and down, mouth curling, "She's a cookie pusher."

"What, I can't have nice friends?" Peter bit back sarcastically. Gwen again felt extremely out of place, "Every dame that goes here's either a cookie pusher or a moll. Doesn't mean her money ain't good."

"Hmm...fine. But you know the rules: no rods and if she messes up it's on your head."

"Sure thing, chum."

The two of them were searched - Peter relinquishing an aged revolver, which surprised her somewhat - and they were quickly let in. The first thing Gwen noticed was the music. She'd heard it somewhat even from the alley, but here the smooth jazz was all-encompassing. If she didn't know any better she might've closed her eyes and let herself be lost to the melodious tunes.

The perfume came second. It wasn't a scent she recognized, but it was calming all the same. It almost made her ignore the 'waitresses' inside.

The servers, if Gwen could even call them that, looked more like bats and gillys than people who should be delivering food and drink. They wore dark, tight leotards that left large swathes of their backs, arms, legs and rear ends exposed. They also wore cat masks and, if you could believe it, had tails attached to the back of the makeshift uniform. The men in the suits ogled openly every single one of them nursing a cup of booze with one hand and a woman in the other.

This place was a sinkhole, and no amount of fancy decorations and colored lighting could change that.

Peter led her to a seat far enough in the back that they could get a modicum of privacy. One of the 'servers' was on them immediately with a practiced, "What'll you two have, handsome?" She almost sneered at that.

"Gimme some whiskey. Gwen, what do you-"

"Water," she said flatly. The waitress seemed slightly surprised at the abrupt tone, but the practiced smile returned soon after and she left. Gwen turned to Peter with a dirty look, "You do know drinking alcohol is against the law, right?"

"So's dressing up like a clown and running around as a vigilante."

"That's different."

"You're gonna have to spell that out for me, Stacy."

"I'm doing it to protect my dad. Not because I want to." If she had it her way she would've used her new gifts just to improve on her ballet. It was technically cheating, but it wasn't like she asked to be bitten.

"Breaking the law is breaking the law. Think the coppers are gonna care you stole from some well-to-do gent cause you gotta feed your family? Good and bad reasons mix together, Stacy. Ain't nobody gonna give you a pat on the shoulder cause you're doing it for your dad. Every saint and two bit chump on the street thinks they're justified."

"You're a cynic," she said it like an insult.

"That obvious?" He gave her a wry smile just as the waitress came back with their beverages. Peter paid for it before she could, "It's fine. I get a discount here." He handed the bill to the waitress and took a small sip of the whiskey while Gwen did the same with her water.

She looked at him through the rim of her glass. With the whiskey his hand and the bandages covering parts of his face, she almost didn't recognize the young man who stood with his aunt on her soapbox just a year prior, "Why are you so cynical?" He looked up from his drink and raised a brow, "I would've thought someone who thought they could change society would be a bit more...idealistic."

"I am; I'm just realistic." She raised an eyebrow in turn. It was a cliche answer if she'd ever heard it, "I wanna believe that if we stand up and scream loud enough then people'll listen, but belief' ain't the same as fact. If you wanna get anywhere then you gotta do more than just shout." His smile turned into something wolfish, "If those in power can't be trusted, it's the responsibility of the people to remove them."

"You sound like your aunt on her soapbox."

"Heh, like you've seen her spiels." She didn't refute him. The last thing she wanted was him prying into her life, "Don't believe me? Just look around you."

She did. At first she had no idea what he meant - just the same men in suits and the 'waitresses' draped over them - but eventually recognition set in, "What the..." She knew that man. Alex MacDougal, one of the big names in the Vice Squad. She saw in a party just a few weeks ago. Next to him was Alberto Russo, one of the men who eluded her dad for months even though it was an open secret he owned half the brothels in New York.

The more she looked the more she saw names she recognized from parties, newspapers and even so-called friends of the family, "See it now?" Peter finished off his whiskey, a hint of bitterness seeping into his tone.

"That's impossible. All of them are..."

"Everyone has a vice, Stacy. See that guy over there?" She looked to where he was pointing and nearly stood up in outrage when she saw the _Mayor of New York_ with a far younger woman in wearing a tight corset pressed up against him, her chest practically attacking his face, "Ol' Jimmy Stryder managed to avoid the fallout. The woman with him's not his wife, by the way." He chuckled lowly at the last bit.

"What's he doing here?"

"My guess? Trying to get away from his ball and chain. Either that or he just wanted another pair of knockers to drool over." He shrugged, "Corruption's a tangled web. Mayor goes to police, police go to the criminals, criminals go to the poor...pluck one and another takes their place."

Gwen scowled and took a deep breath to try and calm herself. Peter's warning to not make a scene echoed in her head again, "Why are you showing me this?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"Cause you want to take down the fat parasite at the center of this web. He should be over here any second now."

She didn't get a chance to ask him what he meant before he nudged his head to the entrance. Again following his lead, she almost couldn't stop herself from jumping up in a fury at the sight of Wilson Fisk walking through the Black Cat like he owned the place. The serving staff and various other patrons either kept well out of his way or paid their respects. Her blood boiled; they were treating him like he was a king.

She caught two people at his left and right side. To the left was a man who looked well into his 30's with sharp eyes and a messy blonde goatee. The dark trenchcoat he wore over his outfit gave him an air of confidence, "That's Benjamin Poindexter," Peter muttered, "He's one of Fisk's best hatchetmen. You want a place burned down or a family murdered? You send the Bullseye killer."

"Bullseye killer?" she asked back softly.

"Yeah. Rumors say he's never missed." He sneered, "See the broad on the other side of big Willie?"

How could Gwen miss her? Her coat and pants were a startling shade of red and black, but it was nothing compared to the woman herself. Long dark hair and olive tan skin that made it clear she wasn't a native. Greek or some kind of Oriental, if Gwen had to guess. She was beautiful, though the passive expression on her face contrasted heavily against Fisk and Poindexter's lax smiles.

"Elektra Natchios. Dunno what the hell's up with her. Most folk on the block think she's Fisk's moll, but I doubt it. She goes with him everywhere, along with that attack dog of his."

Gwen didn't reply. She just stared at Fisk and his entourage as they sat and were served by the staff. _He's right there_ , the dark, angry part of her mind whispered. The bastard who threatened her dad, who used her as leverage to try and break him down. She could go over there now and...and...

She was so angry she almost didn't feel Peter's sudden grip on her wrist, "Don't look too much." Her eyes snapped to him in a harsh glare. He didn't flinch back or gave any indication he noticed, "Fisk isn't an idiot. He's used to people looking at him with respect, fear and hate, but you still don't wanna draw attention to yourself. Even if you can probably take what he's dishing out."

Gwen pursed her lips and breathed through her nostrils, mentally counted down from 1-4. An old trick her mom had taught her, "Why did you bring me here?" She hissed.

"I told you, we're meeting a friend-"

"No, that's not the only reason." She gripped his wrist in turn and the side of his mouth twitched, "You wanted to show me all this. Why? Were you trying to make me give up? Prove that there was nothing I could do?"

"Do you want to?"

Gwen's grip on his wrist tightened. She wanted to snarl back a refusal, but she couldn't deny that a part of her was beaten down by the absurdity of it all. She wasn't naive enough to think she could just threaten Fisk with a few beatings and leave off with that, but seeing just how far the corruption went with her own eyes...it only worsened the uncertainties and anxieties she already had about this whole business.

But it didn't mean she would bury her head in the sand, "Not a chance." She let go of him and leaned back on her seat, "Now let's go meet your friend."

It was brief, but she definitely saw him smile at that. Without another word Peter stood and Gwen followed. They walked up the stairs towards the upper rooms, Gwen making sure to keep her head down and face hidden. She doubted Fisk would recognize her the way she was made up now, but she didn't need any more temptation to go over there and give him what he deserved.

The room Peter led her to was luxurious; enough to make her own bedroom look like a closet. Everything from the furniture to the paintings on the wall screamed someone who had long green to throw around, though what really drew her attention were the cats. Felines of every shape and color from fresh faced kittens that looked maybe a week old and big, shaggy fatcats that looked like they would keel over any second now.

Her observations were cut off by a sensual greeting, "Nice of you to visit, Peter." Gwen recognized her just barely. Felicia Hardy, a woman in the same tracks as many of the people downstairs. The silver haired blonde leaned back on her chair and smiled up at them both, crossing one leg over another. The white dress flattered her in a way that the gillys downstairs couldn't hope to match.

"Miss. Hardy." Peter nodded. Gwen gave him a sideways glance. Was it just her imagination or did he sound more uncertain than before? "Surprised you weren't downstairs."

"I don't entertain guests all the time. A woman needs to have her own pleasures now and then." She gestured to the glass of red wine and book on the nearby side-table, "Who's the filly next to you?"

"My name's Gwen." She didn't say her last name; she doubted it'd get a good reception around here. The older woman looked her up and down, the smile still on her face. Gwen wasn't fooled. Her eyes were piercing, taking in every detail in a way most people wouldn't have been able to see. If she didn't have her new gifts she probably wouldn't have seen it either.

"Hmm, bit uptight, isn't she?" she asked Peter.

"I have my reasons," Gwen said before Peter could respond, "Why did you bring me here? How is she supposed to help us with Fisk?"

"Fisk? Oh, dear boy..." Hardy let out a soft laugh and uncrossed her legs, "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm not into your crusades?"

"You helped me with Goblin."

"Because of what he did with Urich. That was personal. Fisk? That's business."

Gwen was about to cut in when Peter asked, "You sure about that?" Hardy raised a brow, amused, "I know Fisk's been making moves to try and buy this place from you. You've managed to hold him off for now, but how long do you think that'll last? That hog's not someone who takes no for anything. If he can't have it then no one can, you know that."

"You think I can't handle him?" Hardy asked

"Maybe you can, maybe you can't. That really something you wanna leave up to chance?" Peter asked back, "You've seen the way Fisk operates. Anyone that doesn't cave he sends his attack dog after, and for that bastard it's all or nothing. He's not gonna take 20, 50 or 99. Long as he doesn't have everything you're damn sure that he'll find a way to take."

"Hmm..." Hardy picked up the glass and took a small sip of the wine. Gwen could practically see the gears turning in her head, "Can't deny that the guy pushes even harder than Osborn sometimes. Still, what exactly are you planning? Can't have a repeat of what happened with the Goblin. Only reason that worked is cause of the blackmail Ben stashed. We don't have that for Fisk."

"Then we get more. The Black Cat's a melting pot, we can use that?"

"You want me to turn states, Peter? If so then you're out of luck. I can survive losing the Black Cat, not every criminal in New York gunning for me."

"I'm not asking you to give up everything. Just enough so we can start picking at the holes these bastards have. People get drunk and they get sloppy. All it takes is some bozo letting something slip and suddenly everyone's a suspect, not just you. You think any of those parasites wouldn't take advantage? They'll be so busy looking at each other they won't even notice us."

"And how exactly do you plan to capitalize on this information? Most of the police are in someone or another's pocket." The blunt admission made Gwen's fists shake. How much of an uphill battle was her dad's entire career, trying to retain his morals in that mire?

"I'm guessing this is where I come in." Gwen said. Hardy gave her a look of interest and curiosity, "I have...gifts, gifts that'll help with whatever Peter has planned."

"The ear of the police chief hardly matters, Ms. Stacy." Gwen's eyes widened while Felicia smirked, "Don't be surprised. I had a hunch on who you were, but your reaction when I mentioned the police confirmed it. If your plan was for your father to start raiding rackets then it's not going to work. Anyone spots the boys in blue and they'll know there's a rat."

"I wasn't planning to tell the cops." It was only a half lie, at least, "I can..." Gwen stopped. How could she prove it? Ballet moves could be replicated with enough practice and the webs...she didn't want to leave any evidence she was here. She didn't wholly trust someone who own a speakeasy, "...How attached are you to that bed?" she asked eventually.

"I wouldn't want it broken. Why?"

Gwen made her way over there and, without any fanfare, lifted the entire four poster bed over her head with both hands. For the first time that night, Hardy's mask of control cracked, "What the..." Gwen waited a few seconds and let one hand drop, now carrying the ruffled bed over her head with one arm. She didn't know exactly how strong she was, but the bed felt like nothing in her hands.

She set the bed down and, after a showy spin, flipped back and landed on the top of the canopy in a graceful crouch. She couldn't stop the rush of pride in her chest. She liked to think that at least part of it came from her skills even before she got bitten.

Gwen jumped to the ground and stood back up to her full height, "That's what I meant." Gwen crossed her arms and smiled slightly at Felicia's still-stunned expression, "I can take care of myself. Just ask Peter."

"Yeah. She's the only reason I'm still kickin'." Se noted idly that the other woman hadn't asked at all regarding Peter's poor taste. Was it a sign of familiarity or just her not caring? "Stacy's...I dunno what you'd call her, but she can do things we and the coppers can't. She can fight, and best part is no one knows who she is. Everyone's gonna be so busy pointing at fingers at each they won't realize the truth."

"That the police chief's daughter, an aspiring socialist and a club owner are the masterminds." Hardy's shock finally made way for a soft laugh. She finished off the last of her wine and traced a finger through the rim, "So, this is your plan? Rely on Gwendoyne being an _Übermensch_ and solving our problems all by herself? Even if she's...gifted, she's just one woman."

"I'm not trying to stop crime entirely," Gwen said, "I just...Fisk threatened my father, told him that he would hurt me if he doesn't become his lapdog. I can't allow that."

"I'm surprised he'd worry so much about his daughter considering what she can do," Felicia drawled. Gwen didn't say anything, "I'm going to guess that you haven't told him about your new abilities. What else are you hiding from him, I wonder."

"That's none of your business," Gwen said hotly, "Look, Peter took me here because he said that you could help. Can you actually do that or are we just flapping gums for no reason?"

"Feisty, aren't you?" She stood up, finally, and Gwen noticed just how tall the older woman was; easily rivaling Peter in height even without her heels. Even with her powers Gwen suddenly felt smaller, "I'll admit you've got some tricks, but it takes more than some fancy moves and strongman muscles to survive in this business. You've got the gifts, but are you willing to use them?"

"O-Of course I am." She hated how uncertain she sounded. She still remembered the fight the night prior. She'd ran on nothing more than instinct and desperation. She hadn't killed those two men. Could she have? If given the chance would she make sure Fisk couldn't hurt her dad ever again?

"You don't sound so sure..." Felica frowned.

"I _am_ sure." She growled, "The idea of fighting and sneaking around...I don't like it, but what's the alternative? Put my head under a pillow and pretend that criminal won't continue till my dad's either dead or broken? No. No matter how 'unsure' I am, I know I'll do anything before I let that happen."

"Hmm, I guess we'll see." Hardy touched the side of her face before quickly pulling back, "Me and Peter will talk. You're welcome to stay if you want."

"Just contact me when you're ready." She didn't want to stay here any longer than she needed to.

"Suit yourself." Felicia shrugged, "You're welcome back anytime you want. I'll tell Lippy to treat you the same as Peter."

"If you say so." Like she'd ever come here unless she needed to. Bad enough she was running around as some kind of half-cocked vigilante, but spending time in speakeasies and cavorting with known criminals? Her father would have a heart attack.

She all but ran out of the club into the streets, hopefully not catching anyone's attention. A part of her just wanted to go back home and forget about everything she'd seen tonight - the corruption, the men who claimed friendship while selling themselves for handfuls of dollars. How would her dad react to the knowledge of just how many of his associates would stab him in the back given half a chance?

She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight.

That was how she found herself hours later on a rooftop in Hell's Kitchen, her dad already having long slipped into a tired rest. Without having to watch over her dad she found herself wandering aimlessly, flipping, spinning and jumping across the rooftops in a futile attempt to distract herself. Was she hoping to find some would-be victims to save? Use her fists to try and relieve her anger like some kind of thug?

She stopped and took a deep, ragged breath. The costume was smothering and she was covered in a thin blanket of sweat despite the cold air. Again she was reminded of how insane the entire thing was. Dressing up like a man, going up against a criminal kingpin with nothing but a mask and a pair of goggles hiding her identity. One mistake and she - all of them - would lose everything.

Her bitter musings were cut off by a scream. Gwen rushed to the source on instinct and found an all too familiar scene: three thugs surrounding a lone victim. This time it was a woman, plump and with quite a few more years under her belt. She pressed her back against the alley wall and raised her purse like a shield.

"Time's up, dollface!" The thug in front screamed and stepped closer brazenly, right hand held onto a crude knife. Unlike the thugs from last night's attack they didn't wear suits and instead sported dirty, patchwork shirts, trousers and boots. She made out a hint of Italian in his voice, which was hardly a surprise. Italian and Irish tended to dominate this part of town, same with the Negros covering over Harlem.

At first glance it looked like nothing more than a mugging - a sad but undeniable fact in a place like this - but when the woman tried to offer up her purse the thug smacked it away like trash, "You think that's good enough when you piss off the Kingpin?"

"Kingpin..." Gwen's hands on the edge of the roof tightened.

"P-Please..." The woman shrunk back even further and fell on her knees, tears in her eyes, "We'll pay, we'll pay! Just please don't-"

The woman didn't get to finish her plea before Gwen landed and kicked the closest thug's right arm. The the limb snapped from the force of the blow and the knife fell to the ground with a dull clatter, "Ah, what the fu-" She shoved him to the wall and webbed him to the surface.

She webbed the second one before the third quickly moved and pulled out his gun. He screamed something, but she couldn't make it out. For what felt like seconds she saw the barrel of the gun aimed right at her chest, the thug's finger slowly but surely inching towards the trigger. Even if she webbed him down now she couldn't be sure the bullet wouldn't hit.

And then something at the back of her mind screamed at her to _move_.

It was just like her first fall in the alley all those months ago. Gwen felt like a spectator in her own body, helpless to do anything but watch as she ducked, spun and jumped away from the walls, bullets whizzing past her; some of them just inches from flesh. She didn't hear the gunshots, didn't hear the impacts of the bullets when they hit the walls or the thug's panicked and enraged screams.

The magazine had emptied by the time Gwen landed behind the goon. He turned and fired only to be met with a soft click. Gwen punched him across the face so hard that he skidded across the alley, blood and teeth flying out at impact. She barely even noticed that she'd done it.

It was only seconds later that everything suddenly rushed in. She'd just been _shot at,_ "Oh God..." Her breath quickened and she leaned against the wall, heart beating so hard that she found it hard to breath. The bullets whizzing past her head...it was different from being threatened with fists or knives. People were slow, especially now, but bullets were still something she couldn't just outrun.

The woman was gone, and the two goons that still remained conscious weren't in any position to do anything more than struggle and try to scream against their bindings. Gwen almost collapsed then and there, the adrenaline replaced by the rushing anxiety and fear of what she'd just experienced.

This was the second time she'd interfered in the Kingpin's crimes in two days. Two days just stopping two to three goons and she was already breaking down. Was this really all she could do? She'd promised Peter and Hardy she'd do anything to protect her dad. Would really she cave now because she couldn't stand the thought of her life actually being in danger if she fought?

"...No." She gripped the wall tightly and stood up straighter. She couldn't give. Her dad deserved better, "Pull yourself together." She pushed herself off the wall just in time for her new sixth sense to flare again.

She turned around to find two more thugs rounding a corner. Even at a glance the resemblance to their fallen comrades was clear. Gwen crouched down into a battle stance as soon as they caught their first glimpse of their knocked out allies. She wasn't going to run.

It ended up being pointless when a red stick bounced against the nearby wall and hit the right thug square on the side of his head. The remaining goon barely had enough time to look at his now-fallen ally before a red-clad figure jumped from the nearby rooftop and landed on top of him.

Gwen winced slightly at the sound of fist meeting flesh. The figure turned to face her and she almost stepped back. A man covered head to toe in black and red material - leather maybe - with only the flesh of his shoulders down to his elbows exposed. Across his chest she made out two stylized D's and his face was covered in a patchwork devil mask that blocked everything from view.

"...Thanks." Thankfully she remembered enough to lower her oice to something more masculine.

He tilted his head to the side and let out a low, guttural sound, "You shouldn't be here."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have no idea who you're messing with." She almost rolled her eyes at that. Why did people always say that to her?

"I think I've got an idea. This isn't the first time I've run into them." It was the second, but he didn't need to know.

"Just stay out of my way." He picked up the red stick and climbed the fire escape out of sight. Gwen watched his figure disappear before she sighed and followed his lead. So apparently she wasn't the only one who decided to put on a costume to fight the Kingpin. Somehow that didn't make her feel better.

* * *

 **Done. Nothing much happened here, but I did manage to introduce some new people like their new informant Felicia Hardy along with Bullseye and Elektra Natchios, two new baddies for Gwen's rogues gallery. Also a new ally(?) Daredevil, cause I like irony.**

 **Nothing much to say about this one, sorry. Hope the typos weren't too bad.**


End file.
